Freelancers The Sequel To Next Sessions
by Drifter the unknown cowboy
Summary: The time the year is 2092. A new Bebop crew including the son of now legendary Spike Spiegel, will band together to create a new generation, the freelancers. Old friends and new enemies collide, as the Cowboy Bebop continues! Chapter 4 finally!
1. Nostalgic Melody

Cowboy Bebop- FREELANCERS  
  
Session one- Nostalgic Melody  
  
  
  
The vast heavens of space almost seemed wrap around Olga Valte's ship momentarily,  
  
creating a peaceful stillness as she entered the warp gate. Suddenly everything was shooting  
  
by her viewport at a dizzying speed, and she breathed a short sigh of relief. Olga checked  
  
her radar to make sure she'd lost the police tail, and grinned smugly as her radar showed  
  
no sign of them. "Piece of cake." She mused, strapping herself tightly into the seat  
  
as she flipped the communications switch. Olga fiddled with the tuning controls a little,  
  
trying to get a clear signal through the static interference hyperspace transmissions always  
  
suffered from. After a few seconds, Olga found a signal strong enough to use for private  
  
conversation. She activated the scrambler just to be safe, and turned the speaker system on.  
  
"This is roadrunner, repeat this is roadrunner. I'm en route to the specified location, package  
  
in tow." Olga checked the radar again, making sure she wasn't being tracked as she waited for a  
  
response. "Wily here." A gravely, low male voice crackled over the radio. "Message received,  
  
roadrunner is to proceed to the drop point as planned." Olga smiled at the message, glad that  
  
this job was almost complete. She lived for danger, and excelled at pulling off tricky contracts  
  
like this one. But something about it wasn't sitting right with her. She was used to smuggling  
  
weapons and drugs, stealing valubales or transporting hostages. She couldn't understand  
  
why someone would go through all this trouble, and pay what she was being promised for  
  
an infocard containing nothing more than a single person's data file. No one was that important,  
  
as far as Olga was concerned. Especially not now, with the third millenium less than a decade away.  
  
Anything that wasn't a weapon, a drug or some other means of controlling someone else had  
  
outlived it's usefullness back in the day of the cowboys. "Understood." Olga replied at last,  
  
chewing on her thumbnail. "Expected ETA is three hours at current speed." She assured her employer.  
  
The low voice crackled over the speakers again, "Good work roadrunner, wily out."  
  
Olga took the infocard from the breast pocket of her fatigues, eyeing it suspiciously.  
  
"No one's worth 3 million wulongs.." She insisted, bending down as she felt the underside of her seat.  
  
The submachine gun was there, just like always. If this mystery client of hers tried a double cross,  
  
she was fully prepared to show him exactly why Olga Valte was the most feared outlaw in the solar system.  
  
  
  
Don Decapreo held the butane lighter to his cigar, puffing heavily as he looked up at the stars.  
  
Ten well armed, well trained men were standing guard outside the spaceport. He felt he was more than  
  
safe enough sitting in the lobby. This Olga Valte, the woman he'd reluctantly hired to retrieve what he wanted  
  
had a reputation for being a handful. He hadn't become the dominate power behind the strongest sysdicate in the  
  
solar system by taking stupid chances when he could avoid it. Olga was almost as famous for her reliablity  
  
as she was for her temper, and that is why he'd chosen her. He'd much rather have to deal with a loose cannon such  
  
as Valte, than to have a more tame and thus less experienced courier botch the entire deal. The way the world was  
  
now, those were the only two options left for this sort of thing. The only ones competent enough to get the job done  
  
were savage, disloyal mercenaries that believed in nothing except money and power. "Incoming sir." One of the guards  
  
reported, standing at the doorway with his weapon at the ready. "Put that thing away." Decapreo ordered gruffly,  
  
standing up and waddling to the door. "But sir, you gave us specific orders to.." Decapreo brought his open hand  
  
across the guard's face as he passed by. "I know what my orders were, idiot." Decapreo growled, blowing a cloud  
  
of smoke in the man's face. "But I don't recall giving the order to look like you're ready to open fire when she gets here."  
  
The guard relaxed his shotgun, hanging his head as Decapreo continued out to the landing bay.  
  
  
  
Olga cut the engines, but left them on standby in case she needed to leave quickly. There were ten armed men waiting  
  
for her, possibly more inside. They were all syndicate goons from the look of it, which told her the person who's file was  
  
on the card had stepped on too many of the wrong toes. Olga opened the cockpit, shedding her fatigues and tucking the  
  
small submachine gun into her jumpsuit before zipping it up. As she jumped to the landing deck, she saw the guards  
  
were parting in front of the door. A short, well groomed man came out of the spaceport. He was impossibly thin,  
  
his hair combed back so that it seemed to stick to his scalp. His suit looked expensive, as did the cigar he was  
  
holding in one hand. His other hand held a large metal case, which Olga hoped contained her money and not  
  
some cheap trick. She'd seen a thousand of them by now, if this scum had something up his sleeve she'd catch it.  
  
"Right on time, I like punctuality in my women." Decapreo greeted, stopping a few feet away from Olga.  
  
"I perfer capability in mine." Olga countered, half sneering as she showed him the card. "Where's my money?"  
  
Decapreo frowned slightly, as if his feelings had just been hurt. A lesbian, he thought. It seemed that women didn't  
  
come any other way nowadays. Any men that weren't syndicate or police were usually gay, which didn't leave a  
  
girl much choice if she wanted to stay out of the line of fire. Independants were always women, and any of them  
  
looking for romance opted for the same sex as opposed to getting shot on account of a man.  
  
"Now now dear, don't worry. I have it right here." Decapreo eased, setting the case down in front of him.  
  
He nodded to one of her guards, who nodded quickly back and approached Olga. He held out his hand,  
  
his expression one of complete obidience to his employer. Olga set the card down in the man's hand, watching  
  
him and everyone else very closely. The guard promptly turned around, walking back to Decapreo with the card  
  
in hand. "I assume you'll understand, if I check this for validity?" Decapreo asked, smiling craftily at Olga.  
  
  
  
"Just hurry up." Olga reluctantly agreed, crossing her arms under her breasts. Decapreo nodded obligingly,  
  
handing the card to another of his troops. He took it and picked up the metal case at Decapreo's feet,  
  
opening it gently. Olga tensed, ready to grab the submacine gun as she saw the case contained a small  
  
computer. And nothing else. "You screwing with me?" Olga threatened, crouching slightly as her hand went in back of her.  
  
Decapreo looked at her blankly, as if he didn't understand. "What? Oh, your money! I said I have it right here didn't I?"  
  
Decapreo explained, unbuttoning his suit jacket. Three million wulong wrapped in plastic was taped to his waist,  
  
seemingly untampered with. "You won't mind if I check that?" Olga insisted, relaxing a little. Decapreo pulled the  
  
strip of tape from the plastic, tossing the money to Olga. "Be my guest, it's just good buisiness after all."  
  
He said charmingly, as the guard closed the metal case again. "It's good." He reported, handing the card back to  
  
Decapreo. "Excellent." He replied, placing the card delicately inside his shirt pocket. Decapreo's gurards tensed up  
  
nervously, as Olga reached into her jumpsuit. She left it half unzipped as she withdrew a knife, exposing her red lace  
  
bra for all to see. She cut through the plastic, flipping through the bills and examining the paper. "I've heard rumors that  
  
you freelancers can be a handful." Decapreo pointed out, moving closer to Olga. Satisfied with the money, she  
  
tucked it inside her jumpsuit and rasied an eyebrow at Decapreo's comment. "Now, I see they're true." He added,  
  
eyeing her chest with a smile. "Save it, we're done here." Olga snapped, glaring at Decapreo as she zipped the jumpsuit  
  
back up. "Pity, I have a very cozy space yacht waiting." Decapreo offered, watching Olga climb back into her ship.  
  
"Then go pick up a whore." Olga recommended with a smirk, closing the cockpit as she fired the engines back up.  
  
"Perhaps I can hire your services again sometime?" Decapreo persisted, grinning as smoothly as he knew how.  
  
"As long as you've got enough money, I don't come cheaply." Olga shot back, giving the suited man a smirk as she  
  
lifted off.  
  
  
  
"Truly a pity." Decapreo remarked, turning away as Olga's ship ascended back into space. His guards still tensely  
  
watching Olga's ship disapear, didn't see the shadowy figure dart behind Decapreo's zip craft. "Let's get out of here."  
  
Decapreo ordered, walking towards his craft as his driver opened the door. "Let's go find a nice place that sells  
  
alcohol. Not the cheap stuff, mind you." Decapreo directed, sitting down in the back as the driver nodded and shut the  
  
door after him. He lit another cigar, thinking of Olga Valte and what a waste she was. Looking like that, she could  
  
make a good deal more money than she did smuggling. "The world doesn't make sense to me anymore."  
  
Decapreo imparted to the driver, who was starting up the zip craft. He only nodded again, taking off much faster  
  
than Decapreo was comfortable with. "What in the hell are you doing?! Trying to set me on fire?"  
  
Decapreo exclaimed, brushing cigar ash from his pants. "So sorry about that, sir." A sultry voice cooed back,  
  
as the driver's hat was tossed in the backseat with Decapreo. "Who the hell are you? Whatever this is about you're  
  
not getting away with it!" He shouted, leaning forwward as he grabbed for the woman. He was shoved violently  
  
into the backseat, as two bullets pierced his chest. "Sure I will." The woman cooed again, now holding the  
  
infocard in her hand. Her jade green eyes peered out the viewport, watching the guards as they began to give chase  
  
with their own ships. "I used to do this all the time."  
  
  
  
Chase woke up sweating, his dream once again fading as reality took it's place. "Damn dreams." He mummbled  
  
irritably, sitting up in his bed as he reached over to the nightstand. He put the glasses on his face, scratching his head as  
  
his other hand put a cigarette in his mouth. He stood up slowly, and almost tripped over an empty bottle of tequliia.  
  
"Shit!" He yelled, wincing as he stubbed his toe on the large glass bottle. He picked it up and threw it behind the bed,  
  
walking to the light switch as he lit the cigarette. Chase was almost blinded by the sudden rush of flourescent lighting,  
  
his small apartment a complete mess as always. Two more bottles lay near the door, with clothes and paper trash  
  
littering the space around his computer desk. He picked things up as he found them, not taking the time to seperate the  
  
trash but throwing all into the garbage bin. Chase made his way to the bathroom, running cold water and splashing it  
  
onto his face. Tijuawana was always ungodly hot, but today it seemed a bit worse than usual. Chase looked at himself  
  
in the mirror, frowning at the man staring back at him. He was too short, he thought. Not in bad shape, if not thin as a  
  
rake. With all the running around he did that was no surprise, but he was sure he could be better. He brushed strands  
  
of his brown, curly hair away from his face and to the side of his head. "Not even gonna bother today." He announced  
  
groggily, eyeing the comb on the sink with disinterest. He continued to study his bare torso, finding fault after fault with  
  
the kind of shape he was in.  
  
  
  
Chase's comm unit beeped loudly from the bedroom, and Chase had to search a good two minutes before he finally found  
  
it under his shoes. "Gotta stop getting so drunk.." Chase stated, looking quizically at the shoes as he answered the call.  
  
"Chase? Get your lazy ass up man it's two thirty!" Chase frowned at the voice on the other end, sitting on his bed  
  
as he put the shoes on. "Hey Russ, I overslept." Chase answered dryly, wishing he hadn't agreed to help his old friend Russ  
  
track down a bounty today. If you could even call it a bounty. Cowboys had long since died out, and what took their place  
  
was a sort of vigilante police squad. "Overslept? You been drinkin' buddy?" Chase rolled his eyes at Russ' question,  
  
knowing what would would immediately follow his answer. "Little bit." Chase admitted, finding another empty bottle  
  
under his favorite blue shirt. "Man, you gotta stop doin' that Chase. It's no good for you." Chase glared at the comm unit,  
  
certain that he'd choke Russ if he were actually standing here with him. "No shit, Russ. Thanks for telling me." Chase  
  
replied sarcastically, switching the comm unit to his other hand as he put the blue shirt on. "Are cigarettes still safe?"  
  
Chase teased, lighting another as the pack went in his shirt pocket. "You're gonna die young, man." Russ chided,  
  
Chase could almost see him waging a finger. "No such luck, Russ." Chase countered, giving the slow computer a kick as he  
  
checked his e-mail. Nothing important, just the usual crap. "So Russ, are we doing this thing today or what?"  
  
Chase asked anxiously, needing the small but decent part of the bounty he was going to get.  
  
"Sure sure, we're stilll going." Russ assured him, sounding just a little more weasely than usual. "Ten minutes enough?"  
  
Chase buckled the double holster to his chest, slipping his berettas in place as he nodded. "Perfect, usual place right?"  
  
Chase asked, knowing all about Russ and his last minute changes. "See ya there." Russ confirmed, hanging up  
  
quickly. Chase took a second to ponder how unlike Russ that was, but he was thankful that he'd been spared  
  
the usual goodbye conversation. Chase grabbed his black trenchcoat as he was going out the door, then came back  
  
and tucked his katana inside the coat. Something about today felt a little off from the get go, and Chase didn't  
  
like being caught off guard.  
  
  
  
"This is completely unacceptable!!!" Datt Maimon bellowed, the four guards that Decapreo's killer hadn't shot down  
  
cowering before him. He had been like Datt's father, a mentor and a friend. And no one whacked on of his  
  
friends without paying a heavy price. "Who the hell was she? What did she look like? Do any of you oafs have any idea  
  
where she was going?" Datt screamed question after question, pacing up and down the line of disapointing men.  
  
He knew the answer to all of them was no, whoever killed Decapreo had snuck in and out like a pro. It had  
  
'inside job' written all over it, and Datt refused to rest until the responsible party was found and dealt with.  
  
"Tijuawana.." One of the men said meekly. Datt spun around on his heel, marching up to the man and staring him down.  
  
Datt was a hulking 7 foot mass of muscle, with piercing blue eyes that would make anyone feel like a midget by comparison.  
  
It was a well known fact throughout the syndicate, that when Datt was angry he closely ressembled the devil himself  
  
and had all of hell's fury to compliment it. "What was that?" Datt said, his voice suddenly calm and almost abiding.  
  
It was also a well known fact that when Datt used such a tone in his voice, someone's number was up.  
  
"Sir, the package that was delievered...Don Decapreo was holding it personally." Datt smiled thinly, a pleased  
  
expression gracing his chisled face. "Ah, I see. And what was this package?" Datt asked the man, putting an arm  
  
around him. "An infocard sir, containing data on someone who's currently in Tijuawana." Datt nodded agreeably,  
  
patting the man's head affectionately. "Now see? Brain power." Datt annonced, addressing the rest of the men.  
  
"Continue, please." Datt offered, patting the man's shoulder as he put his hands behind his back. "Sir, we're certain  
  
that whoever did this knew the person whose file was contained on the infocard was on our hit list. It's a good possibily  
  
that they'd go to warn him, perhaps even help him escape." Datt smiled broadly at the man's report, chuckling heartily  
  
as he gestured proudly to the man. "Excellent deduction, my boy. I agree." Datt complimented, his hands still behind his back.  
  
"And this incident happend oh, about twenty four hours ago?" Datt asked, watching as all the men nodded in unison.  
  
"And for all that time.." Datt continued, his hands coming out from behind his back. A small pistol was gripped in one of them.  
  
"You men have done nothing to find this person, haven't gone to Tijuawana to find who they're trying to protect,  
  
or at least checked with our contacts there to search for a person matching this man's description?!" The men all  
  
cringed at Datt's booming voice, as he promptly shot the man who'd brought him up to date on their imcompetence.  
  
"That's just, really impressive." Datt remarked, as the dead man fell to the ground. The gunshot had echoed terrifically  
  
all through the main hall, and Datt smiled once again at the remaining troops. "Take care of that, and don't a one of you  
  
show your faces here again, until this mark has been retired." Datt ordered, his voice calm again. As the men did  
  
as they were told, Datt marched to his office and slammed the door soundy behind him. He sat lazily down at his large desk,  
  
picking up the remote that lay atop it. Datt pushed two buttons, and tossed the remote back on the desk as soft Mozart  
  
began to play. Datt Maimon swiveled in the chair, facing the huge window that overlooked the cities of Mars. He glanced  
  
over at the desk briefly, and took the single framed picture from it's surface. It was a picture of himself and Don Decapreo.  
  
When he'd first started making headway in the syndicate, Decapreo had taken Datt under his wing, nutured him, shown him  
  
everything that he knew about organized crime. Datt swivled back to the window, gazing sadly from the picture to  
  
the city and back again. The music swelled inside the room, as Datt decided he would have to take care of things himsef  
  
this time. Not because the men were incompetent, but because whoever had taken his mentor out had been fool enough  
  
to start a personal vendetta with Datt Maimon. A vendetta Datt was itching to finish. There came a knock at the office door,  
  
and Datt yelled a loud 'enter' without even turning around. His personal assistant came in sheepishly, staying  
  
no more than a few inches from the door. "Sir." The assistant called softly, holding sympathy for the grieving man.  
  
"Speak." Datt responded, still facing the window. "We have the file on the mark, Mister Maimon." The assistant  
  
cautiously approached the desk, setting a folder down on it as quickly as he could. "About time." Datt replied,  
  
reaching back for the file without turning around. "Leave." Datt ordered, his assistant gladly obeying.  
  
Datt's resolve hardened, and he almost laughed in spite of his grief as he read the file. This was going to be a lot of  
  
fun, Datt could see. He stood before the giant window, leaning against it with his hands as he began to smile.  
  
"Here I come, Spiegel."  
  
  
  
Chase actually enjoyed the ten minutes or so it took to walk from his pad to the grimy bar where Russ always chose to meet.  
  
It was a dive, but the people were nice enough and never asked a lot of questions. In spite of having to deal with Russ'  
  
criticism all day long, Chase was glad to be working again. He needed a lot of money if he was ever going to reach  
  
his dream. "And the son of the legend arrives fashionably late, as always." Russ greeted as Chase entered the bar.  
  
"Stuff it, Russ." Chase grumbled, gritting his teeth. He hated it when anyone brought up that particular aspect of his life.  
  
Russ held his hands up in surrender, picking up a pool cue as he continued the game. Chase picked a seat at the bar,  
  
watching Russ shark one more sucker for everything they had. The barkeep was cute, young-looking for thirty.  
  
She always wore the same short black skirt every day Chase saw her, with an assortment of rather skimpy tops.  
  
"Hey Megs." Chase called to her, with as much cheer as he could spare for the moment. She saw him and  
  
forgot all about the other customers, almost running over to take his order. "Heya Spiegel, what'll ya have?"  
  
Chase glared rather meancingly at Megs, keeping his eyes locked on her as he lit a cigarette. "Your ass in a sling,  
  
if you ever call me that again." Chase warned, fully aware he'd flown off the handle yet again. Megs covered her mouth  
  
with her hand, looking truly sorry. "I forgot! Ohh, sorry cutie." Chase gave her a smile, showing her that it was fine.  
  
"Tequilla. A double." Chase answered at last, nodding apologetically to Megs as she went to get his drink.  
  
Chase smirked at Russ, as his opponent in pool walked out looking completely devestated. "Here ya go, I put a little  
  
extra love in it hon." Megs cooed, sliding a full shot glass to Chase. He gave Megs a wink, smirking as he  
  
took a gulp. "I feel so bad for people sometimes." Megs sighed, watching a depressed looking woman as she  
  
left the bar. "Some of the guys we get in here, they've got worse issues with their parents than you."  
  
Chase looked somberly down at the liquid in his glass, his eyes holding just a touch of sadness.  
  
"I don't have any parent issues." He corrected, downing the rest of the alcohol in one breath. Megs gave  
  
him a worried look as she walked away, and Chase thought for a second how the empty glass in front  
  
of him ressembled his life. "I don't have..Any parents." He stated, throwing a few bills on the counter.  
  
  
  
"Ready?" Russ prompted suddenly, as Chase turned to regard his friend. He looked like he had  
  
been waiting a while, Chase knew he must have spaced out with his thoughts again. "Yeah."  
  
Chase responded, standing up and following Russ out the door. They walked down the street past the  
  
stores and shops Tijuawana was infamous for. The kind of sidewalk merchants that would scam you  
  
in a second if you let them. "So who's this guy you're after?" Chase inquired, as Russ stopped in front  
  
of a fruit stand. Russ said something in spanish to the owner, who led them both into a backroom where  
  
two men were waiting. They looked sweaty and miserable, probably out of towners who had just now  
  
been introduced to T.J's sweltering weather. One of them was pretty damn tall, seven feet at least with  
  
really big blue eyes. He was a lot better dressed than the other guy, who was sweating his balls off in  
  
khaki suit pants and a tan jacket. Chase knew now why he'd thought Russ had seemed odd today, normally  
  
the pudgy dark skinned cowboy wannabe would have come knocking at Chase's door if he'd overslept even  
  
five seconds. Add to that what Russ had said to the fruit vendor, and the obvious strangers to T.J.  
  
that Russ had brought him to.. Chase knew he had been royally set up. "Hey, this may come as  
  
a shock.." Russ began, drawing his gun on Chase. "But you've got a pretty price on your head, and I'm collecting."  
  
  
  
Chase nodded, keeping his cool but staying on guard. "Shit Russ.." Chase replied, drawing the katana.  
  
"I always kinda liked you. Ok well..No I didn't." Russ frowned, insulted at Chase's response.  
  
They were in a standoff now, with the two sweaty suits not making any move at all. Chase wondered what  
  
the hell they were waiting for. "Gun against blade, Chase." Russ pointed out, getting shaky from all the  
  
tension in the room. It was more like an overgrown closet really, just two chairs and a table.  
  
"I don't wanna upset you." Russ continued, his hand shaking slightly. "But I told you you'd die young."  
  
Chase smirked, his front foot moving slightly closer to Russ. "And I told you, no such luck."  
  
Chase reminded him, moving his back foot slightly. He had now moved a good foot or two  
  
closer to Russ without him noticing, the poor guy was too worried about getting cut. "And I don't wanna  
  
upset you either, old pal." Chase said, smirking wider as he saw Russ would shoot any second. "But I'm better  
  
with a sword." Russ pulled the trigger, just as Chase dodged to the right. He quickly stepped  
  
to Russ' side and swung like he was at the ballpark. Blood stained both men as Russ' arm came off at the  
  
shoulder, and he fell with little more than a squeak. Chase frowned down at him, shaking his head before  
  
turning to the other two men. Only now did they stand up, the tall one with the shorts clapping  
  
and grinning at him. "That was poetry, simply poetry." Datt Maimon complimented, his voice calm amd  
  
abiding. His friend had stood up too, but drew no gun. "I don't think we've been properly introduced."  
  
Chase commented dryly, sweeping the sword down in a half circle motion before stopping it at his side.  
  
"You know, you're absolutely right." Datt admitted, still grinning at Chase in a way that made him think  
  
he was in for a really good fight. "This man is my personal assistant, you see." Datt explained, gesturing  
  
to the man who still hadn't drawn any weapon. Neither of them had, and it made Chase very nervous.  
  
  
  
"And who might you be, I wonder?" Chase asked smugly, hoping he had time to draw the guns.  
  
That would be the deciding factor for this fight. "Well as if it hardly matters.." Datt began.  
  
"You see, I am the man who is going to make your death as slow and torturous as I can manage."  
  
Chase took a nervous gulp, as he realized just who Russ had sold him out to. Datt Maimon, one of the  
  
head men for pretty much the largest and meanest syndicate out there. What could they possibly want with him?  
  
"And you." Datt continued, smiling wider with every breath as he cracked his knuckles. "You're going to  
  
tell me who it was that told you we were coming. Obviously you were prepared, so out with it."  
  
Chase scoffed comically, seeing that big bad Datt had things a tad backwards. "No clue, I never trusted this sod."  
  
Chase explained, gesturing to Russ' body. "I've got nothing against you guys, guess he duped you too huh?"  
  
Chase continued, knowing that even he couldn't talk his way out of this if Datt Maimon wanted his hide.  
  
  
  
"Chase Spiegel." Datt said, his smile fading. "You are one hell of a character, a testament to your fatther's  
  
legend if ever there was one." Chase gritted his teeth, and had to try hard to stop himself from slicing Datt's throat  
  
right then and there. "I have no attachment to that name.." Chase corrected, trying to hide the anger until it's time  
  
came. "My name's Valentine, looks like you were misinformed." Datt shook his finger at Chase, stepping closer  
  
until his chin was right over Chase's blade. Chase's instinct told him to swing up, no one was that fast.  
  
But his more experienced mind voted against it, he knew Datt wouldn't have put himself in a situation he  
  
couldn't get out of just as easily. "I know who you are, my dear dear boy." Datt chided, staring Chase  
  
down with those huge eyes of his. Chase stared right back, his hazel eyes matching Datt's both in seriousness  
  
and fierceness. "No, apparentely you don't." Chase countered, seeing that this was all somehow tied to his  
  
parents. That was typical, all he'd ever gotten from them was trouble. "Then why don't you show me, little  
  
boy?" Datt egged Chase on, grinning once again with his hands behind his back. "Show me just who you are, I'd really  
  
like to know. Before I kill you." A gunshot rang out, making Chase jump back and slice for Datt's throat.  
  
Datt backed away in shock, as his assistant suddenly had only half a head. Datt's gun was also no longer in  
  
his hand, it was being held by the very woman who'd killed his mentor. "He's my son." Faye Valentine said.  
  
"And you won't lay a finger on him." Datt stood staring at her, amazed that he hadn't seen or heard  
  
her come in. "Mom?!" Chase blurted out, completely amazed as well. She held Datt's gun in one hand,  
  
and a considerably bigger glock .30 in the other. Both were pointed at Datt Maimon, who'd had the tables severly  
  
turned against him in a matter of seconds. Faye gazed at Chase tenderly, smiling as she spoke. "Young man,  
  
where -have- you been?" 


	2. The Tunes Of Loss

Cowboy Bebop FREELANCERS The Tunes Of Loss  
  
  
  
Chase Valentine was a fairly level-headed individual, nothing ever shocked him or surprised him and he'd never been  
  
caught off his guard. Until the day his mother, who he hadn't seen in ten years had bailed him out of a setup  
  
orchestrated by the closest thing Chase had to a friend. That man was now gone, cut down by Chase's own sword.  
  
Datt Maimon grimaced at Faye Valetnine, his eyes darting from her to her son and back again. "How the hell did you find me?"  
  
Chase asked finally, sheathing his katana and tucking it back into his coat. He drew a beretta from his holster, keeping it  
  
squarely aimed at Datt as he moved closer to Faye. Her gaze seemed to move past Chase, as he heard a third gun being drawn.  
  
"I had help, from an old friend." Faye answered, as Olga Valte stepped in front of Chase with a submachine gun in hand.  
  
"Speaking of that old friend." Olga cued, raising an eyebrow at Faye as she smirked. Faye smirked back at her, a little  
  
more darkly than Chase was used to seeing from his mother. True that in ten years she could have changed completely. Or perhaps  
  
this was just the real her, Faye the hunter. Faye tossed Datt's gun to Chase, who caught it effortlessly and put it in his coat pocket.  
  
Her now free hand reached down to the floor, where she'd set a large pouch down. She took the three million wulongs  
  
from inside, tossing them to Olga. "You traitor!" Datt shouted, glaring at Olga with hate. "Freelance, look it up."  
  
Olga responded, smirking at Datt as she put the money into her small hip pack.  
  
  
  
Her usual fatigues and jumpsuit had been replaced by a tank top and short red dress. "Besides, she was never working  
  
for you to begin with at all. I hired her." Faye explained, smiling as Datt became even angrier. "But the handoff was made,  
  
you got your money you bitch!" Datt stammered, enraged by Olga's betrayal. "She got -my- money." Faye corrected,  
  
looking at Chase as she explained the double-cross. "Three thousand wulongs for my transport to Tijuawana ahead  
  
Mister Datt here, which your boss so graciously provided." Faye teased, enjoying the show as Datt squirmed in anger..  
  
"And three million to me." Olga continued. "For telling Faye where and when the handoff would take place."  
  
Datt's entire body was shaking all over, he was so angry he felt like exploding. "You...Are all going to pay. Most dearly."  
  
Datt threatened, his fists clenching as he gritted his teeth. "Big talk from a dead man." Chase reminded him, holding the  
  
beretta close enough for the metal barrel to touch Datt's skull. "You are most mistaken." Datt countered, as thrusters  
  
whined overhead. "Shit!" Olga cursed, running outside to check out the sound. Datt Maimon began to laugh heartily,  
  
smiling as he met Chase's glare. "That would be my men. Twenty of them, with orders to sweep this entire planet if  
  
I did not return on time." Chase smirked, seeing why Datt had seemed so unafraid of the situation. Even if he died  
  
there were plenty of men left to avenge him. "Stupid syndicate goons, you're all the same." Chase said, ending Datt  
  
Maimon's life with the pull of a trigger. Faye's eyes went wide, as Chase turned back to her. His face was streaked with  
  
blood, his expression was reminiscent of a wild animal, she'd seen the same look on Spike's face many times. "You should go."  
  
Chase told her coldly, walking to the door as Faye blankly stared first at her son, then down at Datt's body.  
  
  
  
"Ten years.." Faye said scornfully, as Chase stopped at the open door. "Ten years, and that's all you have to say to me  
  
you ungrateful, immature little.." Chase turned sharply, matching Faye's scornful look. "I'm the one who left, remember?"  
  
Chase stated, hating the feelings that were stirring inside him from seeing her again. "I said everything I had to say to you  
  
that day, there's nothing more." His words hurt Faye badly, she had missed him so much all these years. He didn't  
  
seem to have missed her at all though, and that hurt her a lot. "So what now, should I just leave? Do you want me to  
  
just leave you to fend for yourself and go home?" Faye questioned, putting the glock away. "That sounds about right."  
  
Chase answered, turning away from her. He loved her, he really did. She was his mother for Christ's sake, how could he not?  
  
"Don't get the wrong idea, mom." Chase continued, still facing away from her. "I left because I was a burden to you, I couldn't  
  
watch you struggle anymore. He left us mom, both of us. He was never there, and you couldn't support us both on your own."  
  
Faye's eyes misted slightly, as she walked over to Chase. He turned around just in time to receive her embrace, feeling  
  
as if his guts were being tied together. It hurt to see her, it hurt too much. He had learned to live alone at such an early age,  
  
that seeing her now was almost as painful as leaving had been all those years ago. "I love you mom." Chase whispered,  
  
holding her tightly. "And that's why you have to go, I don't want you hurt..." A gunshot rang out, as Chase felt a heavy impact  
  
push both of them against the wall. Chase gasped in horror, as Faye's yellow shorts and top were now stained with red.  
  
Another gunshot rang out, as a syndicate troop knocked down the door and fell dead inside the room. Chase and Faye were  
  
trapped under it, and Chase saw a single bullethole near the middle of the door. Olga came rushing in, stopping short as she saw Chase.  
  
"Oh damnit! There's a lot more than twenty of them Faye!" She shouted, lifting up the door. "Help Me!" Chase cried,  
  
picking Faye up in his arms. Olga's eyes went wide as she saw Faye, blood seeping from the hole in her chest.  
  
"Oh Shit, this is really bad." Olga gasped, taking Faye from his arms. She layed Faye down on the table, ripping a section of her  
  
dress off and pressing the cloth to Faye's wound. "It's no good, she's losing too much blood!" Olga shouted, as Chase watched  
  
from the doorway. His mind was racing, it couldn't be true. To see his one parent again, only to have her taken from him.  
  
It was different when they were apart, and he felt sure she was doing better without him. But to have her gone, really gone.  
  
"She'll make it!" Chase protested, running to Faye's side. "We have to get her out of here!" Olga eyed him skeptically,  
  
checking her hip pack for extra ammo. "There's too many of them, kid. At least fifty of them, and they're coming straight here."  
  
Olga reported sadly, touching Faye's hand. She gazed at Olga, smiling weakly as she gave her hand a squeeze. "It's not a world  
  
for women anymore, is it Olga?' Faye remarked softly, as Olga smiled back. Chase stood by helplessly, watching as his  
  
mother was bleeding her last. Suddenly the fear and pain inside him subsided, and he only felt anger. Hot, boiling anger towards  
  
Datt, and his troops, and Russ who'd sold him out to begin with. Chase drew both berettas from his holster, gritting his teeth  
  
as he started for the door. "No Chase, stay with me." Faye pleaded weakly, looking to Olga as Chase remained at his mother's side.  
  
  
  
"I'll take care of it, Faye." Olga said, agreeing to Faye's unspoken request. Chase offered her the berettas, which she took with a wink  
  
as she ran out the doorway. "Don't try to talk." Chase cautioned, leaning closer to Faye as he took her hand.  
  
Faye persisted, coughing a little before the words came. "He didn't leave us, Chase. Your father, he.." Chase frowned at the  
  
mention of him, hating him more than ever for abadoning them. "He saved us all, before..Before you were ever born." Faye continued,  
  
wishing she had told him sooner. He had only been ten, when he'd left home. Thinking that his father had never been there, that  
  
he'd never cared for them. It was so far from the truth that she had to set the record straight now, she owed Spike at least that.  
  
"I don't want to hear anything about him, mom." Chase refused, pressing the cloth from Olga's dress firmly against the bullet wound.  
  
"You have to listen, Chase." Faye persisted, grabbing his hand with her own, pushing the cloth aginst her chest even harder.  
  
"Spike..Your father, he saved both our lives, lots of others too. There was a weapon, a terrible weapon that was destroying  
  
planets, he.." Chase didn't want to believe it, yet at the same time he was tempted to. To know that his father had good reason to  
  
be gone, that he didn't just leave him and his mother to fend for themselves. He wanted to believe it more than anything, really.  
  
"Then why'd he have to go away?" Chase asked rather childishly, not sure what he was feeling. "Why couldn't he come back?"  
  
Faye winced, closing her eyes as she coughed up blood. "He chose to die, Chase. And he did it so that you'd have a future.  
  
I gave birth to you, I rasied you. But it's because of him that I ever survived to do it, he gave you life Chase. Do you know why  
  
I gave you that name?" Chase was extemely skeptial, certain that Faye only wanted him to stop hating his father for leaving.  
  
It was too farfetched, too strange. And too good to be true. "Why?" Chase indulged her, a small part of him wondering  
  
where she had gotten such a name. "Because.." Faye whispered, smiling up at him. "He told me, that he'd  
  
make sure we lived. That he'd make the world a place for you to chase after all your dreams.." Chase's stomach clenched up at that,  
  
thinking that it might be true after all. If it were, it would be as hard to live with as having no dad at all. Harder even, he didn't  
  
need that in his life. He'd already tasted his share of sadness and hard times, he didn't want any more. But his father had given  
  
them anyway, because his son was just so special to him. "I can finally see him again, Chase. It's been so hard without him  
  
here...." Chase took a long ragged gasp, his eyes shedding tears as Faye Valentine left him to rest with her husband.  
  
Chase closed his eyes, hunched over her body for a short time. Then he suddenly rose to his feet , his body driven by sheer  
  
emotion as he unsheathed the katana.  
  
  
  
Chase sprinted outside in a flurry, and saw Olga fending off a crowd of syndicate goons with his berettas. He ran headlong  
  
into the fray, slicing madly as he rushed to Olga's side. "How is she?" Olga shouted to him over the gunfire, as Chase  
  
pressed his back up against hers. "She's gone." Chase answered grimly, as Olga handed his guns back to him. "Get going."  
  
Olga demanded, slapping her last magazine into the submachine gun as Chase shot the last of the syndicate men.  
  
Several more of them arrived, opening fire on Olga and Chase from across the street. "What? But you're almost out of ammo!"  
  
Chase shouted back, picking off two men as the new group of troops closed in on them. "Go to this address." Olga ordered,  
  
turning to Chase as she handed him a scrap of paper. Chase shook his head in defiance as he took it, and shot two more  
  
troops. "I'm not leaving you here like this!" Chase shouted, as a bullet caught Olga in the shoulder. She winced and returned fire,  
  
paying almost no attention to the deep wound. "It's already been decided kid, now stop wasting time and go!" Olga insisted,  
  
as Chase took down two more of the advancing troops. "I can't just.." He started, receiving a strong elbow to his side from  
  
Olga. "She told me to get you out if things got hairy, kid. I knew the risks when I came here and I can handle things by myself, now split!"  
  
Olga interrupted, ending the argument as she took two small charges from her hip pack. She threw them at the group of men,  
  
ducking as they exploded into twin clouds of smoke. Olga rushed into the cloud, submachine gun blazing as Chase finally  
  
gave up. He knew if they'd found him here, then they must have his place covered already. There's no going back now,  
  
Chase thought as he ran for all he was worth. A car with more syndicate men sped around the corner, bearing down on him  
  
as he leapt into the air. Chase landed on the speeding car's roof and drew both berettas, firing down into the car until both guns  
  
clicked empty. He saw the dead end wall too late, and was thrown violently off the car as it collided with concrete.  
  
  
  
Chase rolled twice, barely avoiding gunfire from the car's one surviving passenger. The man had a broken left arm, hanging  
  
dead at his side while his right hand kept firing the handgun. Chase bolted towards him, drawing the katana quickly as the man  
  
screamed profanity at him. He still had three shots left in the gun when Chase's blade cut through his midsection, causing another  
  
scream before the man dropped at Chase's feet. The car was all banged up now, and the front end ressembled a broken accordian.  
  
Chase pulled the remaining bodies from the car, and got into the driver's seat with only a moment's thought of Olga's  
  
well-being. He hoped she was as good as she thought she was, unless she'd never intended on surviving the day's events in the first place.  
  
"Too many people are dying on my account." Chase cursed gruffly, turning the ignition key. Miraculously the engine turned over,  
  
as Chase backed the car over it's former occupants. He drove the mangled heap as fast as it would go, hoping he could catch the next flight  
  
headed for Venus before the syndicate caught him. He had no idea who he would meet at the address Olga had given him, but whoever  
  
it was had a lot of explaining to do. 


	3. Generation Gap Groove

Cowboy Bebop FREELANCERS  
  
Session 3- Generation Gap Groove  
  
  
  
Chase ran through the spaceport lobby almost out of breath, the damaged car had finally given up on him about a half a mile from  
  
the station. He pushed the last bit of energy out of him as he reached the ticket booth, breathing heavily as the man behind the desk  
  
eyed him cautiously. "Can I help you?" He asked in a surprised voice, as Chase took a wad of bills from his pocket.  
  
"Give me a ticket." He answered, slapping the money down on the desk. There were about two hundred wulongs more there than was needed  
  
to get a flight to Venus from almost anywhere in the solar system. "Boarding has already been completed, sir." The man informed him,  
  
taking the bills. "The next shuttle is scheduled to depart in three hours, I assume you're requesting an advance ticket?"  
  
"Goddamnit." Chase growled, pounding his fist on the desk. He didn't have a minute to spare, much less three hours.  
  
"I said give me a ticket!" He shouted, drawing a beretta and aiming it at the glass window the man was standing behind.  
  
"Sir the flight is about to take off, I'm sorry but if you don't put that away I'll have to call security." Chase fired a round into  
  
the bulletproof glass, gritting his teeth at the man. "Now!" He demanded, as the man shrank back in surprise.  
  
He reluctantly obeyed, pushing buttons on a machine as a ticket popped out from the top. He slid it under the glass window,  
  
cringing as Chase snatched it up greedily. "There, for what good it will do you sir." The man addressed in a shaken voice,  
  
but as he turned around he saw Chase was gone.  
  
  
  
Out on the lauchpad, the shuttle was firing it's primary engines and preparing to lift off. Chase botled towards it, feeling like  
  
he was about ready to collapse. He reached the warning gate as a security officer spotted him, holding his hand out as Chase  
  
neared. "The flight's already boarded.." The officer began, as Chase put the ticked in his outstretched hand without  
  
even slowing down. "I know, damnit!" Chase replied, cursing as the boarding walk began to retract. It slid away as he jumped for all  
  
he was worth, barely catching hold of one of the shuttle's wings. As the shuttle began to move, Chase slowly climbed his way  
  
on top of the ship, inching towards the matainence hatch. The shuttle lifted off the ground as Chase reached the hatch,  
  
tugging on the handle with brute force until it agreed to open. A surprised stewardess jumped back with a scream, as Chase  
  
landed squarely on her cart of food. She stared wide eyed at him as he quickly dismounted her food cart, smiling sheepishly  
  
as he scratched his head. "Sorry, thought the can was up there." Chase excused himself, grabbing a can of soda as he walked away.  
  
The stewardess watched him go with a blank expression, hoping she wasn't going to be held accountable for all the ruined food.  
  
Chase calmly made his way to seat 128, the number that had been on his ticket. He reached it and sat down heavily, opening the  
  
soda can and drinking as if he'd been in a desert all day long. Chase breathed a sigh of relief, followed by a loud belch that made  
  
the little girl sitting across from him giggle. Chase winked at her, smiling slightly as he leaned back in his seat. The little girl tugged  
  
at her mother's dress, pointing at the funny man across the isle. Her mother smiled and nodded, then told her daughter to leave  
  
the other passengers alone. Several cars arrived at the spaceport just in time to see the shuttle take off,  
  
rapidly gaining altitude as the syndicate men watched it go.  
  
  
  
The beat up old fishing ship sat atop a lake on Venus, floating silentely as the day inched into afternoon. Jet Black  
  
was sitting on the edge of the hangar bay, holding his fishing pole lazily as the sinker began to move under the dark water.  
  
He always fished when he was thinking of Spike Spiegel, his old friend and partner. He'd always gone fishing when they  
  
stopped on some planet to catch a bounty or get supplies, always off this very hangar bay. Never caught much either,  
  
Jet was holding up that part pretty well. He glanced briefly at the empty cooler beside him, frowning slightly. It really  
  
wasn't as easy as it looked. Or perhaps he was simply getting too old to have the patience for these things, he'd given  
  
up on the bonsai trees about a month ago and thrown out the lot of them. He'd thought many times about giving up the  
  
cigarettes as well, being damn near sixty years old meant that he had to stop doing certain things.  
  
"Aww, to hell with it." Jet grumbled, setting the pole down. It was no good to get caught up in old memories right now,  
  
he was waiting for someone which meant staying as alert as he could.  
  
  
  
Chase wandered through the streets of Venus, sinking his teeth into the apple he'd bought from a street vendor.  
  
The address Olga had given him was fairly vauge, and the old man he'd asked directions from wasn't much clearer.  
  
Chase was about to find someone else to ask, when he passed a small hardware shop. There was no sign on the door,  
  
or anywhere else for that matter. In fact the nameless shop had only it's address painted in large orange lettering over the  
  
display window, which had various parts and weird devices showing. The address matched the one Chase had been given,  
  
and he knocked on the door for a few mintues before getting impatient and going inside. A strange laughng noise sounded  
  
as he entered the shop, a rather insane twist on hanging a bell over the door. There was more junky stuff  
  
inside, hanging off shelves and piled up against the walls. Some of them were advertising pretty amusing uses, like guns  
  
loaded with stink gas. There were lots of useful articles as well, mainly hacking devices and anti-hacking devices.  
  
Chase thought whoever owned the place must make good buisiness that way, selling hacks and ways around them.  
  
Even more if they programmed flaws into both, which was technically wrong but good buisiness sense none the less.  
  
No one had come to greet the new customer yet, Chase wondered if things got stolen from here a lot with no clerk  
  
and an unlocked door. He picked up one of the stink guns as he waited, smirking at it. As soon as it left the shelf,  
  
a retractable gun popped out from the wall and pointed right at Chase. "Put it back." A sultry female voice demanded,  
  
as Chase promptly dropped the gun. "I was sent here by a friend." He explained, looking around for cameras. He didn't  
  
see any in the walls or ceillings. "A friend of who? I think you've got the wrong fucking shop pal." The voice replied  
  
suspiciously, as Chase turned back to the gun pointing at him. The was a camera lens in the barrel, most likely meaning it  
  
didn't actually have any bullets. "Look, whoever you are I'm here for some answers and I'm not leaving without them."  
  
Chase stated, then added "I was sent here by Faye Valentine." There was a short pause, followed by a crazy kind of laugh.  
  
  
  
"Faye sent you? Are you Chase?" The voice questioned, as the gun turret retracted into the wall again. "That's me."  
  
Chase answered, putting his hands in his pockets as he waited some more. He heard a door being unlocked and then opened,  
  
as a tall voluptuous redhead suddenly appeared from somewhere in the back. She was dressed in a tight orange halter top  
  
and purple pants that were even tighter. As she came around the counter to face him, Chase saw she was barefoot.  
  
"I'm Edward." She said happily, smiling at him. "I've been waiting a long time for this." She informed Chase, holding out  
  
a pack of cigarettes. "Can we talk somewhere?" He asked, raising an eyebrow at her. "Sure, the backroom. But smoke first."  
  
Edward insisted, still smiling at him oddly. Chase nodded agreeably, thinking that was a pretty good idea. He fished a cigg out  
  
of his pocket, hesitating as Ed said "No no no, smoke these. I like them best." Chase gave her a strange look, eyeing her  
  
cigarettes. "So smoke them." He said finally, feeling a little strange. "Nooooo, you fucker! I don't smoke!" She shouted  
  
irritably, sporting a mood swing that rivaled his mother's. "Then what the fuck?" Chase shouted back, as Ed took one of her cigarettes  
  
and gently put it in his mouth. She lit it with what looked like a small blowtorch, nearly singing his eyebrows in the process.  
  
"I'm addicted to second hand smoke, see?" Edward explained, standing right in front of Chase as he blew smoke in her face.  
  
"Ohh, yess." She cooed, closing her eyes and smiling. Chase couldn't believe his mother had sent him here, this girl obviously had  
  
issues all the medication in the galaxy couldn't cure. "Ok, now we can talk." Ed agreed at last, grabbing Chase's hand as she led him  
  
into the backroom. She kept her face very close to his the entire time, taking deep breaths and smiling like a crazy person.  
  
She was incredibly beautiful, he couldn't stop looking at her alluring yellow eyes or her exotically dark skin tone. Her figure was  
  
in nice shape too, with muscular yet thin limbs and a very flat midsection. It was so flat that it accentuated her chest, which stuck  
  
out firmly above her tight stomach. Her butt was a marvel as well, she must have worked out at least twice everyday.  
  
But as gorgeous as she was, Chase was worried for his safety. She was obviously nuts, and she seemed to know a little more about  
  
him than he could be comfortable with. "Quit looking at my ass, pervert! This is serious buisiness!" Ed shouted at him, pulling his hand  
  
harder as they reached the backroom. Chase sincerely hoped Faye knew what she was doing when she sent him here, it was only a matter of  
  
time before the syndicate found him again and he didn't want to picture Edward in any kind of violent situation. 


	4. Old Dogs Still Dance

FREELANCERS- Old Dogs Still Dance  
  
Jet was standing in the rec room, washing the Bebop's windows even though he'd done so right after they'd landed on Venus.  
  
Jet hadn't realized this until he was half finished, and chose to believe he was just that desperate for subterfuge as   
  
opposed to admitting that age was beginning to take it's toll on him. It seemed only yesterday or, he couldn't quite   
  
remember but almost certainly sometime during the last week he'd mistaken one of his socks for an oven mitt and   
  
burned his flesh hand trying to take a pan of lasagna from the oven. Jet didn't like to think about going senile  
  
and turned his focus towards other, slightly less troubling things. Here he was, cleaning the rec room's viewports  
  
for the second time today. He'd been doing the very same activity when Spike had walked out, determined to   
  
confront Vicious and bury his checkered past once and for all. And later on, when a pregnant Faye had kept her  
  
goodbyes as short and painless as possible he'd cleaned the windows all day long. Staring out of them, beholding  
  
all the world through a wall of glass. Reality didn't quite seem real that way, as if he were watching a movie.   
  
Maybe it was his way of dealing with life, convincing himself that he simply viewed it rather than interact with it.  
  
"Damn Edward, always has to have her Goddamned lasagna." Jet grumbled, worrying about his only remaining   
  
partner/roommate being so late getting back.   
  
Chase felt extremely weird, as he watched Ed sniff blissfully at the ashtray. That was weird enough in and of itself  
  
but she wouldn't stop staring at him, examining every last one of his features. He looked down at her irritably,   
  
which only made Ed smile wider at him. "God he used to look at me like that all the time...You're so much like him  
  
it's fucking unreal!" Edward confessed, leaning closer in her reclining chair that seemed completely metallic and   
  
very uncomfortable. Chase stood up abruptly, grinding his cigarette down to nothing in the ashtray. He was so sick   
  
of all this meaningless shit, people he'd never met before talking as if they knew him. Friends of his father popping up  
  
everywhere and all of them insisting he was the spitting image of a legendary bounty hunter. "Alright, fuck this."   
  
Chase shouted, walking quickly to the door and swinging it open so hard that it crashed against the shelves on the wall.   
  
"Whoa! Take it easy with my shit asshole!" Edward shouted back, following after Chase as he stalked angrily through   
  
her shop. "Hey!" Chase yelled at her, whirling around and grabbing her shouders tightly. "Stop wasting my time bitch!  
  
I've been running around all day long, there's a nasty band of goons after my head and the only thing you tell me   
  
is how much like Spiegel I am!" Edward shoved Chase away violently, pushing him against the wall with impossible strength.   
  
"I know all that you fucking idiot!" Edward retorted, startling Chase with her sudden outburst. "Why do you think Faye sent you   
  
here? My shop doesn't show up on radar, I'm protecting you! Fucking asshole!" Chase shoved back at the mention of   
  
his mother, turning away from Ed shaprly. "Faye, is dead." He admitted coldly. "Just like my dad, and whoever you think  
  
I am you're mistaken." Edward took the news harshly, gasping as she made a whining sound with her throat.   
  
"You let her die? You jusr ran away and let her die? That wasn't the plan she was supposed to go back to the Bebop!   
  
What the fuck are you good for anyway?!" Edward went off on Chase, punching him hard across the jaw.   
  
Chase stumbled back a little, it hurt a lot. She was way too small to be that strong. "Plans change."   
  
Chase growled back, rubbing a palm across his jaw. "People die, and I never said I was good for anything. You're   
  
the one that thinks I'm so much like my dad." Edward crossed her arms in front of her, badly upset. She cocked her  
  
hips to one side, glaring at him with a pouty expression. He glared back at her, hating her even though they   
  
were strangers. She had no right to judge him against anyone, least of all a man he'd never even met.   
  
"Well goddamnit, I don't know what the fuck we're supossed to do now. Christ can't it ever be simple?"  
  
Edward said suddenly, apparentely shurgging off the rage in an instant. She threw her hands into the air in a   
  
surrendering gesture, going behind the front desk and rummaging through the junk until she found the comm unit.  
  
"Stay." She ordered, drawing a downsized Ak-47 from under the desk as Chase turned back towards the door.   
  
"You expect me to believe anything in this junkyard works?" Chase questioned, receiving an immediate reply  
  
as the wall to the left and right of him suddenly bled smoke. Chase hadn't heard a single shot.   
  
"All my shit works." Edward said darkly. Chase became very obediant as Edward spoke with an   
  
unknown party on the phone, thinkiing he was safer with the stupid goons chasing him.   
  
This girl Ed, was frighteningly smart.   
  
Jet picked the call up in a hurry, relieved to hear Ed's voice. She was sure on about something though, as she explained  
  
that plans had to change. Also that Spike's kid was a damned intolerable prick, and that Faye had died.  
  
Jet took the last part very hard, leaning against the hallway for suport as his legs suddenly went weak.  
  
The world was such a cold place, taking his friends away one by one. As a cop he'd often thought himself invincible,   
  
the black dog that never stays down. Spike, Faye and everyone he'd met since his retirement really,  
  
were his constant reminder that immortaltity was a myth. Jet Black put his grief aside, saving it for when he could   
  
let it out easily. Their chances at the bounty were a lot worse now, no Faye to run interference. That also meant   
  
no one stationed on the ground to take off with the bounty while the police chased after Ed's decoy.  
  
"Alright Ed, here's what we'll do.." Jet spoke into the comm until, entering his room and frowning at his tan coat   
  
and fedora. The old threads always made him feel young again. Too young, too cocky. They made him do things he shouldn't.   
  
It wasn't going to go well with him on the ground helping Edward capture their prey. Jet had the weirdest idea,   
  
wincing and holding the comm unit away from his ear as Edward expressed her lack of enthusiasm for the   
  
revised plan. "He is NOT coming with us!" She angrily refused, smacking her palm against a bookcase as Chase  
  
flinched on reflex. "I wouldn't trust this guy to do my fucking laundry let alone catch our bounty! Out of the question!"  
  
Jet sighed heavily, as Ed forced him to rely yet again on cheap tactics. "Ed, I'm really very hungry you know.  
  
I cooked some lasagna today with you mind but I'm just..So.." Jet even threw in some fake sobs, hoping that she'd fold.  
  
"Ohhhh, Jet! I'm sorry, your poor tummy must be feeling so icky! Alright, I'll bring him back with me and we'll  
  
figure something out but just this once ok?" Chase's eyes widened, as horror crept over him. Was she actually  
  
talking about taking off with him? To help them net a bounty? "You honestly think I'd let you  
  
kidnap me, you crazy freak job?" Chase shouted, reaching for the door handle as his eyes suddenly closed on him.   
  
Jets of gas shot from the ceiling as his body slumped to the ground,   
  
until Ed took her finger off the button concealed in a drawer of her desk.   
  
"Of course not." She answered Chase's sleeping form, cuffing one of his hands and snapping the other cuff on her own  
  
wrist. "We'll be waiting." Edward spoke into the comm unit before hanging up. 


End file.
